


Stars of night turned deep to dust

by thesaddestboner



Series: Bros [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Detroit Tigers, Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He kind of wishes he could crawl into his locker and hide behind his clothes or something, but that'd be kind of cowardly and he's not a coward.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars of night turned deep to dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riddering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddering/gifts).



> I think this was prompted by [**noshootingstars**](http://noshootingstars.livejournal.com/) in my LJ a million years ago.
> 
> Title from “The Greatest,” by Cat Power.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Maybe a hundred different people - there's a lot of them and he kind of loses count, but a hundred seems about right - ask him how he feels. How this loss _makes him feel_ , as if they expect a different answer than, "This loss makes me feel fucking terrible. This loss makes me feel like the San José Sharks ran over my dog." He purses his lips and gives pat answers, though, the answers they're obviously expecting. He pushes down a swell of resentment as they scribble notes in their little notebooks and fiddle with recorders.

He kind of wishes he could crawl into his locker and hide behind his clothes or something, but that'd be kind of cowardly and he's not a coward. He'd never run away, not even from the media.

They say things like, "You had a good series," "you only let in eighteen goals in seven games," "you gave the team a chance," blah blah fucking blah. If he'd let in one fewer goal they might either be winning or at least tied. When you really come down to it, he failed. He was supposed to let in fewer goals than Niemi did and he failed.

He's banging his head against his locker stall - not hard enough to hurt, mind you - when his cell phone starts vibrating next to him and he picks it up.

>   
>  **text from: JV**  
>  _received: 5/13/2010 00:16_  
>  hey man come over when u get back into town. we can have beers or somethin - jv

Jimmy sets his phone down and starts counting down the seconds.

-

They get home late - or early, if you're that kind of person - around six in the morning. Everyone is weary, bone-tired, aching. Bertuzzi alternates between lashing out and complaining about the bright lights on the runway. Cleary stares off dazedly in the distance. Datsyuk can finally wear a brace on his injured wrist.

 _Walking wounded_ , Jimmy thinks, dropping his gaze. Then: _I'm the only one who wasn't hurt. Should've done more._ He blinks the thoughts out of his head and stirs a finger in his drink.

The Detroit morning is dim and gray; the sun hasn't yet peaked through the clouds.

He wonders if Justin's still up to having a mopey goaltender take up space in his living room or something.

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder and he looks over.

"You all right?" It's Osgood, who looks as tired as Jimmy feels. "You were good, you know. Good enough to win the series."

Jimmy offers Osgood a weak smile and diverts his gaze to his glass. He shakes it, rattles the ice cubes. "Wasn't good enough."

"Most times, it would be," Osgood reassures him. "Niemi was just a little better. Nothing to be ashamed of, though. You showed me something. You showed us _all_ something."

Jimmy raises his eyes and allows himself to meet Osgood's gaze. "Thanks, Chris. That means a lot coming from you."

Osgood smiles, a little spark of life flashing in his blue eyes. " 'Course it does. I'm fucking awesome."

Jimmy laughs for the first time since this godforsaken series started.

The cabbie drops Jimmy off in front of Justin's place and he starts to wonder if he made the right choice. All the lights are off and while he hadn't expected Justin to be eagerly awaiting his arrival, Jimmy still lets himself be pissy that he isn't.

He walks up to the front door and is about to ring the doorbell when the floodlights hum to life and the door opens. Justin squints at him tiredly and rubs at his eyes.

"Hey," he says, "c'mon in."

"Hi." Jimmy does as he's told and follows Justin in, nudging the door shut behind them. He drops his carry on bag on the floor. "Sorry it's so late. Um, early. I just, I probably should've gone home but -"

"It's okay," Justin says, reaching for him, sliding his hands over his shoulders.

Jimmy tips his head up so that he can look Justin in the eyes. "Thanks for, you know. Being awesome and stuff."

Justin smiles, a flash of teeth, and slips his hands lower, tugs Jimmy a little closer. "Can't help it. It's a part of my natural charm."

Jimmy closes his eyes and sways unsteadily, the gravity of sleep tugging heavily on him. "Think I'm gonna pass out right here," he murmurs, letting Justin's hands hold him up. It feels nice to not be the one holding the team - shit, and the city too - on his shoulders. It kind of feels nice to be the one being held.

"Don't do that," Justin says. "Got a couch with your name on it, pal."

"Not even sharing your bed with me? Cold," Jimmy quips, but there's no fire to it. He's too tired and too mentally wiped to be snappy with the comebacks at the moment.

"If you'd only ask nicely," Justin says, pulling Jimmy upright and holding him still, steady, his hands on his waist.

"I need your guidance," Jimmy says, forcing his eyes open. "I'm a Red Sox fan from New York, for Christ's sake."

Justin laughs and wraps a hand in Jimmy's shirt, pulling him along to the family room. "You need a sassy gay friend."

"Look at my life, look at my choices," Jimmy asks, stifling a yawn, trying not to stumble over his own feet.

Justin pushes him onto the couch in an exhausted heap and lands next to him. "Yeah, something like that," he says.

Jimmy sprawls out, putting his feet in Justin's lap. "Thanks for letting me crash. I'm gonna pass out now."

Justin drapes an arm over Jimmy's shins. "Say goodnight, Jimmy."

He closes his eyes, lets a faint smile cross his lips. "Goodnight, Jimmy."

Jimmy's out like a light a few minutes later.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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